


Tell Me How

by msmaj



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Overdosing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmaj/pseuds/msmaj
Summary: Betty Cooper's job as social worker dredges up more from the past than just feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun, which had seemingly hung on as long as it could, had finally dipped below the horizon. Its last wisps of pink and orange were swallowed by the inky night that descended. There was no moon, only the lingering twilight and flickering street lamps to illuminate her way. She chose to live close to work, in the neighborhood where she’d be making a difference; she had wanted to see its impact. And see she did. She saw the impact of something that was not confined to the borders that separated the South side from the rest of Riverdale; she saw the impact in vacant, empty stares, heard it in cries, feeling the sobs in her arms as she tried to offer comfort.

Comfort, she snorted out loud as her eyes rolled. Betty Cooper wasn’t a hero, making a difference to these people; she was one decision away from being persona non-grata. Her house, at the end of a broken sidewalk, came into view and she felt a little of the weight she carried dissipate. It wasn’t much to look at; the blue-painted siding was faded and chipped, the sun had bleached the roof unevenly, the small unattached garage leaned at a precarious angle, but it was hers. She managed a slight smile as she turned the key in the lock, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. 

Today had been a long day. The kind of day you felt in your bones. With an exhausted sigh, she pulled the door closed and upon the subsequent click, she felt her legs give from beneath her. She slid down the door, knees pulled tight to her chest as the tears began to fall in steady streams from her eyes. The scent clung to her sweater, all Baby Magic and sunshine, as his weeping mother cried in her office. Another life was gone, one second a proud and beaming father, the next; a statistic. She’d been on too many cases like this lately; had to ask too many people questions about their state of life she should never have to ask. She should never have to be called in to assess whether a child can safely return to its remaining parent. No one should have to go through what this poor girl faces, no child should grow up without…

Betty only realized what she was doing as the hot tears hit the open abrasions on her palm. She gently splayed her hands over her knees, breathing slowly and deeply as her head fell back on the door. She hated her job. No, not entirely, she supposed. Betty loved to help, she was intrinsically made for getting answers; no truth could outrun Betty Cooper. Yet more and more, there were simply no answers for what she’d been seeing. Slowly, on bone-weary legs, she stood and tried to push down the images that were seared in her mind. 

Every time her eyes closed she saw a baby, the spitting image of his father, who would never hear his laughter or remember his smile — _No!_ — she thought, her head shaking neared violent as she made sure the deadbolt was latched. She pushed away from the door with purpose, propelling her down the short hallway into her bedroom. As tired as she was, the grey sheets and yellow walls never looked less inviting. She stripped off her blazer and slacks and traded them for her favorite worn yoga pants and old Smiths tee-shirt. Throwing herself onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling, willing her eyes to close and the sleep she was so desperate for to come. But after an hour it hadn’t, then another; images of bright blue eyes and wispy blonde hair haunting her. A huff of air escaped her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. It was way too late to go for her customary run but she’d picked up some old Tae-Bo tapes at a garage sale a few years before and they never seemed to fail her when she needed to let off some steam. The old thirteen inch Panasonic fired up as she fixed her hair into a tight ponytail and through the auto-adjust tracking, Betty got lost in the routine.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Routine it became. The lack of sleep, two a.m. Tae-Bo, the inability to separate from this case. It had been two weeks of tenuous phone calls, ‘just checking in’ she’d say when the weary mother would answer her phone. Betty knew it didn’t help, that the platitudes of a strange woman who had the power to take your child away probably weren’t conducive to grieving. Betty resigned herself the obsession, even if she didn’t fully understand it. There were so many children she had dealt with and while many of their stories stayed in her heart, none of their eyes seemed to haunt as much as this ones. Tomorrow, she would call her doctor tomorrow, she decided. Stretching back against her pillows, Betty closed her eyes.

_“Wake up, please…please wake up,” she cried over the prone form. Her hands fisted whatever piece of clothing she could get her hands on, sobs wracking her body as she sank against the cool tiles. “You can’t leave me. You promised…” The body under hers shuddered. She shot up, pulling them with her as her hand went to sweep the hair from the forehead where it was stuck in what appeared to be sweat and no small amount of vomit._

_“Betty,” the voice rasped. Her tears subsided, for just a second, before all she saw were the whites of eyes._

_“No!” she whimpered. “NO!”_

Betty woke with the word on her lips. She was practically panting she was breathing so hard. The memories she worked so hard to suppress, all she had fought and conquered, everything broadcast in live and in-living-color right in her bedroom. Reaching for the water bottle on her nightstand, the shrill ring of her phone cut through the night, the number flashing on the screen sent chills through her body. 

“Betty Cooper,” she answered, willing her voice past her lips.

“Miss Cooper, this is Detective Neal. I had heard you were handling the case regarding Mr. Cousins.”

She swallowed thickly. “You heard correctly, Detective. I assume a call this late isn’t for a clerical error.”

“No, Miss Cooper. I wish I was calling you with something as banal at that, unfortunately, we’re going to need you to come and remove the child.”

Betty’s head smacked against the headboard audibly. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was closer to ten minutes when she pulled up to the cute, suburban home. She may have broken a few traffic laws, but she was certain that anyone foolish enough to pull her over that night would have gotten the raw end of Betty’s razor-like tongue. She was running on pure adrenaline, that’s the only way she’d get through this night. To have to walk through this house, again, not knowing what she’d have to see inside, made her insides flip uneasily. The lights of the ambulance and police cars danced through the darkened street, casting shadows in suburbia, where they’ve always existed and no one thought to look.  
Betty’s hands wrung and stretched as she made her way through the door, flashing her credentials at the officer. She wove her way through the throng of responders, focused on the cries of a three-month-old little boy who needed, well, everyone who’d left him. He’d have to settle for her and the family who was taking him in. 

The kitchen was a disaster. The wife apparently had used every glass in the house to allay her anger. Futile. Ineffective. Useless. The words Betty remembered so well after her own dalliance in grief echoed through her head as the physical shards of anger crunched under her feet. She could feel the darkness welling inside her as she crossed the field of broken glass. Fingernails pressed into her palms, she felt it before the skin broke this time, snapping her focus back to the present. 

“Ah, Miss Cooper!” A tall man waved her up the stairs. She took a deep breath before ascending, knowing what she might face at the top. Fortunately, the coroner had been quick and all evidence to what had happened was out of sight. Small miracles. The breath fell from her lips heavy as she walked into the nursery. Bright blue eyes clouded with tears as they met hers. A sad smile formed on her lips as she reached out to try and soothe him. But there’d be nothing soothing about that night. Not that Betty could produce.

“…I don’t know that he’s had other charges, but he’s the only open foster we’ve got right now. He’ll have to adapt quickly to an infant, but, that’s what he signed up for.” She realized the older detective was speaking to her and turned her head toward him to meet his eyes. The man’s eyes were weary, his back hunched by the weight of the job he carried. He ran a hand over his shorn hair and met Betty’s eyes with sympathy. “We get way too many of these calls, Miss Cooper.”

"Don’t I know it,” she agreed sadly. She looked back to the baby, and placed a hand on his belly, trying to pour all the love she could muster into the gentle touch. Before she could register what was happening, a diaper bag had been slung over her shoulder and the car seat placed at her feet. Through a haze of tears, she managed to secure the infant in his seat and get him settled into her car. She looked at the slip of paper in her hands, the address eluding her. She hated when that happened; she’d only been back in Riverdale a few months and still didn’t know it as well as she should have, not for as long as she’d lived there before, not when all she used to do was ride around…she stopped, shaking the vestiges of that train of thought away, securing it away for a night her emotions weren’t already overwhelming her. She plugged the address into her GPS as the sound of the Aquabats filled the air. The little boy cooed, a gurgle escaping his lips every now and again as they drove through the winding roads.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive to the foster house took longer than Betty expected. They ended up outside the city proper, a small dirt road leading to a cottage that overlooked the Sweetwater River. Betty took a deep breath when she got out of the car, honeysuckle enveloped her completely and knocked her senses for a loop. Her mouth opened as a ragged breath fell from her lips. She tried to bite back the tears that gathered on her waterline, she could taste the blood on her lip as she opened the car door. But try as she might to fight them, the tears cascaded down her cheeks as she went to remove the sleeping cherub from her back seat. 

“So, this is where you’ll be staying, little guy. I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention when Detective Neal was saying their name but they have to be a lovely family to get you.” Betty ran her hand down the baby’s cheek, he sighed a half smile as he nestled against her hand. She tucked the moment away, deep into her heart and rang the doorbell. “I promise I’ll be back to see you, not that you know who I am but, oh sweetling, know that you’re loved.” Betty did not notice the door open, therefore she did not see the young man standing there taking in the scene before him. When he swallowed audibly, Betty tore her eyes from the baby and startled herself into speaking.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean just to be standing here staring at him…I swear he was in good hands,” she laughed without humor before the sound of his voice froze her in place.

“I have no doubt that he was, Betty.”

Betty’s head slowly rose, green eyes brimming with tears connecting with stormy blue. She wasn’t sure her voice would work, but she managed to croak out a single word. “Juggie?”


	2. Chapter 2

Betty Cooper was stuck. Her instinct was to turn heel and walk away, like he’d done all those years before, but there was so much more than her pride at stake. It was one of those moments that seemed to last a lifetime, or at least flash it before your eyes. Betty felt the breath hitch in her throat, her hands clung to the car seat as Jughead Jones stepped into the moonlight. Millions of thoughts ran through her mind, so rapidly she couldn’t find the words, or bandwidth to process them. Her eyes steeled against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, the taste of blood spilling across her tongue once again. 

“Let’s get him inside,” Jughead said quietly. Betty nodded and followed him into the house. It was warm, and not just in a temperate way, but in feeling. She didn’t see much; he’d ushered her into the kitchen where the red walls were covered in cast iron cookware, and took the carrier from her arms, setting it on the table. Betty picked up the binkie attached to the baby’s sleeper and placed it in his mouth, whispering nonsensical things as she tried to placate him back to sleep. She could feel Jughead’s eyes on her, feel the questions lingering on his lips as she watched his mouth open and close in her periphery, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed them down. 

The baby settled, but only for a moment. He was fighting against sleep, desperately trying to hold on…even if he had no idea what it was he’d lost. Just that something was terribly wrong in his universe, and Betty wanted nothing more than to hold him to her chest and kiss away the tears. Jughead’s heavy sigh drew her attention but she still didn’t dare look at him. Thoughts bombarded her, her insides felt as if she were being pulled in a hundred different directions, the room started to spin until the pain pierced the veil she hadn’t even been aware she’d been constructing. She needed to maintain some semblance of professionalism, which she felt she failed to do up until this point. He was going to provide shelter, stability, affection…love; her teeth found the inside of her cheek already tender, but she bit down anyway. He deserved that love. They both did. The breath that passed her own lips was shaky, her nerves were all but shot from the proceeding day, and Jughead’s proximity did nothing to allay them. 

“Jughead Jones,” she said once her voice returned to her, “meet Elliot.” 

He was standing next to her, his shoulder making the slightest contact with hers as he tried to draw Elliot’s attention. He smiled, softly, at the baby, voice hushed and calm, each word that fell from his lips stung her. Stepping back, Betty turned to look out the window, unable to focus on much more than the sound of the Sweetwater churning in the distance. His voice made her raw, exposing nerves she’d long thought healed, and his scent, lingering in the air around her…

“Betts?” He questioned, so casually, as the tips of his fingers pressed against the small of her back. For a fleeting moment she nearly gave in. The warmth of his touch spread through her, the strength she’d so relied on for so long within her grasp. She could feel his fingers grip at the fabric of her coat before she turned away from him, arms wrapped tightly across her torso. Betty steeled herself against the resignation that settled in his eyes as he stepped back. 

“All of my contact information is in the diaper bag, but I would understand if you maybe wanted to deal with someone else, um, I’ll just tell my supervisor to be waiting for your call.” She nodded, resolute.

A deep crease furrowed his brow. “No, Betty, that’s not going to happen.”

“Listen, Jughead, this doesn’t have to be a difficult transition. It’s not going to be easy; infants rarely are, I mean the twins were…” A lifetime ago, she thought. But she didn’t know this Jughead Jones. Fuck, she thought, if the words rose in her threat as steadily as the bile seemed to, she may be able to discern a thing or two about how to salvage this increasingly awkward encounter. She smiled, politely, as air huffed softly through her nose. “I just don’t want him to suffer because we can’t even have a conversation.”

“Betty, come on, if anyone else had been standing at that door you would have been the epitome of professional. I mean look at you,” he waved his hand, appraising her form: impossibly high ponytail, pressed slacks, matching jacket, kitten-heeled pumps. “Even at three a.m.; you’re a vision.” Jugheads voice faded out, his eyes dropped from hers and back to Elliot, now blowing bubbles in his sleep.

The urge to move possessed Betty suddenly, it was too quiet, too still…she could hear the wheels turning in his head, could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. She started pacing. “Jughe…Jug, this is not going to be easy for me. Being here, in your house… Hah, I didn’t even know you were back in Riverdale! But I guess that was kind of the point then, wasn’t it?” She held up her hand when he tried to speak. “I will not ask questions unless it’s about Elliot. I won’t contact you unless it regards him, and if this is going to work…” she swallowed hard as she stopped pacing and turned back to face him, glassy-eyed, her heart stuck in her throat. “This has to work Jughead. I need to be there for him, I can’t really explain why.” 

A soft smile broke his lips, but his eyes still held onto the sadness that always seemed to pervade them. “Because you’re Betty Cooper. He’s so lucky to have you on his side. I promise I won’t fuck this up for you, like-”

“We can’t do that, go down that road. Not tonight, maybe not ever. Right now, I’m Elliot’s case worker and you are his foster parent, we’ll keep to professional courtesies, and see each other only when necessary. Okay?” 

“Yeah,” he whispered, “okay.” His voice sounded hoarse to her ears and if the last three years hadn’t happened, she might even felt a little bit bad about being so terse. Instead, she nodded, turning to walk out of the room, out of his house, until her eyes refocused on the baby, still in his car seat on the table. Her eyes softened as she thought about all this little boy would have to get through, a watery smiled tugged at the corners of her lips as she looked back to Jughead, who was looking at Elliot the same way. While she wasn’t exactly sure what her feelings about Jughead would be, or even what they were at the moment, she was thankful that, at least for a little while, Elliot would have him.   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Betty was thankful for the warm, yellow lights as they cascaded from the sky in even intervals the closer she got to town. The road from the Sweetwater didn’t have but a couple of streetlights and Betty’s tired eyes could hardly handle the strain. She just wanted to be home, wrapped in her ratty, flannel blanket, listening to something that was bound to make her cry even harder than she already planned on doing. 

How the hell had Jughead Jones ended up a foster parent? The question and a thousand crazier-than-the-last theories cycled through her head. She couldn’t remember him discussing it at any time, though, it had been a long time ago. She was certain she’d remember that though, considering why they’d parted ways in the first place. Her hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as she drove back into Riverdale, the last words he’d said to her, resonating as loudly now as then. Betty must have been driving on autopilot, her mind a million miles away as the car shuddered to a stop before looming wrought iron gates. Betty looked up confused, not even realizing she’d made her way to the cemetery rather than her own home. Resigned, she killed the engine and made her way to the gate, pulling the loosely chained panels apart and sliding through. 

This was unfortunately not Betty Cooper’s first dalliance with breaking into the cemetery after hours. She’d done it a few times when she was younger, more now that she moved back. Some nights she just needed the kind of comfort only the graveyard would offer. What she was looking for lie up ahead, too large an obelisk to be anything but a beacon. A sad smile settled on her lips as she slid down the left of the monument, wind whipping stray strands of hair into the tracks of her freshly spilled tears.  
“What am I supposed to do now, Pol?”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was nearly six before Betty got home, her house engulfed in the blush, rosy hues of sunrise. She sent a quick text to her boss, letting her know what happened and that she’d be in late. Stripping off her clothes and pulling the hair-tie free, Betty threw herself back onto the pristinely made bed, where she desperately willed sleep to claim her.   
It didn’t. 

Her eyes traced the cracks in her plastered ceiling, each spindly branch weaving through the stucco, all eventually leading back to the center where the fan was haphazardly suspended above her. The air whirred around her, chilling her skin but doing nothing to assuage what bubbled under the surface. She felt fire, rising in her stomach, and almost too late realized that she was actually going to be sick.

She barely made it into the bathroom, opting to empty her stomach into the sink as it was a few steps closer. Wiping a hand across her mouth, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and promptly sank to the floor. Hands tangled in her hair, the vinyl tile sticking to her bare skin, the tears overtook and the battle she’d valiantly fought all night came crumbling down around her.

_Betty opened one eye, then the other, still bleary from sleep as the percussive cries of her niece woke her. She rolled to face her clock, the glaring red numbers read 7:22. Annoyed she couldn’t sleep in on the only Saturday she had free until graduation, Betty flung off her covers and hopped out of bed._

_The door to Polly’s room was cracked open with the light from the adjacent bathroom peeking out from under the door. Rolling her eyes, Betty opened the door to the nursery and was greeted with the sight of her infuriated niece and nephew. Seeing their tear-streaked, ruddy cheeks, Betty was overcome with guilt, she should be more willing to help, she knew how hard it was getting on Polly. Between work, online classes, Hal Cooper’s complete and utter detachment from his eldest daughter, Alice’s incessant over-bearing…everything; she’d been flailing. Betty tried to help her. She and Jughead took the twins every Wednesday night, Cheryl had them Saturday and Sunday, but maybe she should be doing more._

_Betty tried figuring how she could work more twin-time into her already hectic schedule as she changed Calliope, her little hands fisting red curls as she babbled. Smiling at her niece, Betty put her back in the crib and tended to Xander. Once the twins were cleaned up, she walked over to the bathroom and rapped on the door._

_“Pol? I’m taking the twins downstairs. I’ll get them fed and everything, just, take your time.” She heard a garbled ‘Thank you, Betty,’ through the thin door, and couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips._

_A kid on each hip, she walked into the kitchen with purpose. And that purpose was waffles. She secured Callie and Xan in their highchairs and sent a quick text to Jughead before pulling the iron from the pantry and starting on breakfast._

_The music was turned up loud, Betty dancing and singing along to whatever random kid’s song played on satellite. Xander laughed and swayed back and forth in his chair, making silly faces at his aunt while Callie tried her hand at singing, or loudly screaming. Betty couldn’t help but smile at the scene in front of her; smiles, sticky, syrupy-hands matting Xander’s spiky blonde hair to his head, Callie’s quasi-toothy grin as she recognizes the next song._

_She’s distracted by the ding of her phone, quickly reading the text before rushing up the stairs._

_“Hey Pol, there’s still some waffles left if you want them. Juggie’s on his way, so seriously, if you want them you’re going to need to get a move on!” She waited a beat; still nothing. Her knuckles tapped against the door gently. “Pol?” When more silence followed, they connected with more urgency. “Polly?!” There was some noise coming from the other side, but whatever it was made Betty’s blood run cold._

_Frantically, she screamed for her sister, hands desperately yanking at the locked door, the knob not giving as much as she fought it. Then she tried to kick it, she felt the door bow as her foot made contact, but it wasn’t enough. Taking a step back, and a deep breath, Betty lowered her shoulder and hit the door just above the knob, splintering the frame with the force as the door swung open._

_“POLLY!!!” Betty dropped to her knees, sweeping her sister up into her arms. Vomit clung to Polly’s hair, ran down her face, pooled next to the base of the toilet; it’s pervasive stench assaulting Betty’s nostrils. “You can’t do this to me! You promised…” The tears now freely flowed down Betty’s face as she turned her sister to face her and maybe see if she could get her to throw up again._

_“Betty,” she croaked, before the drugs overtook her. The last image that would be seared into her sister’s mind would be that of the whites of her eyes, vomit dribbling off her chin as she went limp in her arms._

_“No no no no no no…” Betty muttered, sliding Polly to the floor before she started chest compressions. “You cannot leave them, Polly. Calliope and Xander need you. I need you, please,” she cried._

_“Betty? What’s going…oh my god,” Betty looked up, tears falling onto Polly who lay unresponsive under her._

_“Juggie,” she said brokenly as pain in her wrists and shoulders started to set in. She had no idea how long she’d been doing compressions, she only knew she stopped when Jughead had pulled her off, insisting that EMTs would be there any second. She hadn’t even seen him call. He led her down the stairs, back to the kitchen where the twins were still entertained by the Barenaked Ladies. She stared, dazed, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps._

_“Betts, please, I need you to breathe. Okay, can you do that for me?” He asked, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. The smell of his laundry detergent and stale smoke did wonders for her nerves, or maybe it was just the way he never took his hands off of her, tethering her to Earth before she slipped away from reality. Together they moved the twins into the living room, and as soon as the first gate went up, Hal and Alice Cooper burst through the door, Riverdale paramedics and police arriving just seconds later._

_Betty knew the moment her mother had made it upstairs. The sound Alice Cooper made upon finding her daughter dead on her bathroom floor would haunt Betty’s dreams the rest of her life. She pulled her feet up on the couch, wrapping her arms around her legs, curling herself into the smallest form she could as Jughead wrapped his arms around her, and promised, in no unwavering terms that he would be by her side. Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thank yous to all that have left comments and kudos, your kind words mean the world. Again, huge shoutout to wordsonpages for being so encouraging. The. Best. And I should probably thank Paramore and their album _After Laughter_ for being amazing, considering I borrowed this title from one of the tracks :)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first foray into this fandom and I'm wicked nervous because this is ridiculously personal for me. Un-beta'd. Any and all criticisms are welcome, and yes, I am aware this is hardly how social work is done, I just kinda needed to borrow the basics for the story. It is presumedly going to get a lot worse before it gets better, just, hang in there! Thanks to any and all who've taken a minute to read this! Especially @wordsonpages1 on tumblr for her encouragement and all around awesomeness.


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